


Virtue

by bloodandcream



Series: Ship all the Ships [144]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bondage, D/s, F/M, Sub Dean, Tea Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 09:39:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11010810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: “Hasn’t anyone told you patience is a virtue darling?”Rowena looks down at him, fingers loosely splayed over the teacup, resting on its lip as they move back and forth, steam curling up in the sunny air.Dean rolls his eyes, stills again. Quiet.“Personally, I’m not one for virtue.”





	Virtue

Back straight. Chest out. Dean twists his wrists, squeezing his fingers shut in a fist, then letting them uncurl. Breathe in. Breathe out. Shifting his knees, the plastic laid out under him crinkles loudly. She pauses what she’s doing to look at him with a disapprovingly arched eyebrow. It’s as precise and well painted as the rest of her face.

Dean looks back down, and stills. Quiet.

There’s a rug underneath the plastic, bright red oriental pattern, well padded and he likes doing longer scenes where there’s good carpet instead of the hard wood of her playroom.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

It’s quiet except for the rattle of the teapot’s lid when it’s tipped. Small hands on a bone white china, red roses curling around the top and down the handle. Her nails are painted a soft, muted red that almost matches.

The solarium is flooded with sunlight through ceiling high windows, bushes lining the garden outside providing privacy. The afternoon sunlight glints off the perfectly curled fall of her long red hair, shining on the sequins of her midnight blue dress.

The plastic is loud when Dean shifts again. Chest out. Back straight. Arms folded behind him with hands clasped around forearms - except when he’s fidgeting - the rope harness wrapped around his chest pulls as he moves and Dean appreciates the presence of it. Soft, white rope.

“Hasn’t anyone told you patience is a virtue darling?”

Rowena looks down at him, fingers loosely splayed over the teacup, resting on its lip as they move back and forth, steam curling up in the sunny air.

Dean rolls his eyes, stills again. Quiet.

“Personally, I’m not one for virtue.”

She smiles, lifts the dainty teacup to her lips and sips. Her painted red mouth scrunches, purses and blows across the surface of the tea.

“But a good cup of tea can’t be rushed.”

With a soft clink, the teacup is set back on it’s saucer, and Rowena pushes her chair out from the table, just enough to turn and angle towards Dean. Lifting one leg to cross over the other, readjusting her skirts, she sighs and smiles at him.

“Are we having fun yet, dear?”

Dean thinks that he’s bored out of his skull, but that’s… not really right. He has the afternoon cleared, there’s nowhere else to be. It’s just, he thought there would be a little more action than getting trussed up and watching Rowena make a pot of tea. She’s mean with a flogger, and even more cruel with tiny needles, but he’s not used to all of this waiting. This quiet. It should be boring.

Instead, Dean feels almost relaxed. He’s not sure what to anticipate but he finds himself sinking a little deeper, a little quieter as she treats him as a thing, talks at him rather than to him.

Dean’s not sure if he’s supposed to answer the question.

“Don’t worry, we’re getting to the good part,” Rowena tells him, patting his cheek.

Picking up her teacup again, a single rose painted in the middle to match the teapot, she dips a finger inside and hums to herself.

Dean stays still, butt rested against his heels, bare ass naked in her fancy house and feeling kind of like a house cat napping in a sun beam.

“Hold still now.”

Leaning towards him, Rowena pushes a fingers beneath his chin and Dean tips his head back. Upending the tea cup over his chest, warm liquid pours over his skin and soaks the white rope. On instinct, he flinches, but it’s nowhere near hot enough to burn.

Dean’s not ashamed to say that his dick perks up at the first notion of play time.

He recognizes the smell of her favorite tea. The kind she always has him make for her. Earl Gray. She says it’s the bergamot that makes it the best. Dean has no fucking idea what bergamot is.

Breathe in, breathe out. He can feel himself getting a little emptier, a little lighter, with her hands and her attention on him. The self-satisfied smile that pulls at her cheeks, eyes bright.

“You are a good boy aren’t you?”

Dean holds still, quiet, head tipped up where she holds him.

“You were so wasted on my son, he doesn’t know how to appreciate the finer things in life.”

Dean blinks, head jerking down to look at her before he remembers his place, but she only laughs quiety and turns to pour another cup of tea.

He’s had plenty of doms, tops, masters, sirs, whatever they’ve wanted to be called, in his life before. But Dean’s never ditched one to get with their mom. Crowley was a dick and he was a rebound anyway, after Dean’s service with Cain turned sour. Rowena is a change of pace. Dean finds that she’s gentle physically, but she somehow manages to cut him deeper, gouge into his head and pull every ugly thing out, lay it bare and beat it out of him and god, Dean hasn’t felt this light in years.

“Open wide dear, don’t swallow.”

Head tipping back up where she guides it, Dean opens his mouth, watches her take a sip of tea.

Rowena rests a foot on his thigh, sharp heel without pressure for the moment. The drape of her heavy dress drags over his skin as she slides her foot higher, leans over him. Scraping a nail along his cheek, it catches on his lower lip and Dean loosens his jaw further as Rowena spits tea in his mouth.

He doesn’t swallow. Or spit. Holds his tongue against the back of his throat so that it pools in his mouth. Rowena hums, sips more tea and spits it into his waiting mouth. Warm, bitter.

“That’s a good boy.”

She croons and fills his mouth. Dean breathes through his nose, flexes his wrists and tightens his hold on his own forearms. Rowena spits enough tea into his mouth it spills over his lips, dripping down his chest and wet on his hard cock starting to swing up against his stomach.

Setting her teacup down, Rowena smiles beatific at him, sunlight golden on her skin. Raising an arm, Dean thinks she’s going for the teapot again, but she brings her little hand down against his cheek hard, knocking his head to the side and Dean spits tea fucking everywhere.

Huh, that’s what the plastic on the floor is for.

She hits hard enough it stings, clear imprint of her ownership on his skin.

Dean tenses, loosens. Breathe in, breathe out.

Yeah, he’s feeling pretty empty right about now.

It’s kind of weird being slapped around by a lady old enough to be his mother, and about half his size. But she hits hard, and right where he needs it.

Sharp nails dig into his chest, drag down to where the rope crosses over, she pulls him forward. Lurching on his knees, Dean struggles to keep balance. Rowena rests both of her feet on his bare thighs, leaning her weight on them and digging sharp points into the tender of them, hand curling in the rope and her hair falls over her shoulder, soft against his chest.

“You don’t have a thought of your own like this, do you?”

It doesn’t really seem to matter, how or why she wants to hurt him. What she dresses it up like. Just like all the tops he’s had before, all the ones he’ll have after, Dean knows. He’ll do what they say, no matter how weird it is, and he’ll do it gladly, because they adore him just as much as he needs them to.

And when it wears off, when the shininess of a pretty new play toy desperate to please begins to dull, he’ll find another.

Maybe that’s all he’s really after. Someone’s wonder.

The sequins on her dress crunch as Rowena pulls the skirts up. Leaning back in her chair, she spreads her legs wide, feet still balanced on Dean’s thighs. Swooping her delicate hands up his broad shoulders, she sweeps her fingers into his short hair and pulls him closer.

Bergamot and pussy, it’s a pretty good combination.

Tipping forward, imbalanced, the rope pulling tighter across his chest as it swells with tea, Dean shifts loudly on the plastic and nudges his way closer. She’s hot and wet, closing her thighs around his head, drawing him in.

Dean flexes his hands. Breathes in. Dives deeper to suffocate between slender thighs, choke himself on the headiness of her approval.


End file.
